


Every Quadrant

by lbk_princen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbk_princen/pseuds/lbk_princen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want him in every quadrant like a fool.</p><p>Four davekat stories, one for each quadrant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Quadrant

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've seen something like this around somewhere, and I liked the idea so I figured I might as well write my own. I'll probably do a solkat one as well, maybe karezi too; make it a series.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are completely, utterly, hopelessly flushed for a complete moron.

You like to ask yourself, how the hell did this happen? When the fuck did you lower your standards enough that you would fall horns over heels for Dave fucking Strider? (you're convinced that's his middle name, and if it isn't, there is no justice in this world and Terezi just started to cry a little because of that) But then you remember that Dave is gorgeous and actually a decent person sometimes and that you don't deserve him in the slightest.

You pity him so hard you can't even look at him without your heart aching. You want him to touch you and tell you that you matter, and that he would do anything for you. You also sorta want him to fuck you against a wall.

Right now you are staring longingly at the back of Dave's head. He's listening to music, and the book in your hands is all but forgotten. That is until he turns a little in your direction and your head snaps down so fast you're sure your neck is going to hurt later.

"What're you reading over there?" his voice lilts from across the room. He's got an accent, and according to Rose it's called a "Southern drawl", which isn't hard to believe, since drawl is basically the idiot's only form of communication.

"A book, dumbass. It's good literature, so I wouldn't expect you to know anything about it." Yeah okay, your words might be a little harsh, but abrasive quips are your only form of communication.

"Ooh, ouch. I'm offended. I'm gonna need so much fuckin' cream for that burn. The'll be no cream left for you after I roast you in my sick fires."

You snort and turn your page, even though you haven't read a single word.

You could listen to him talk forever.

"What's the matter?"

You jump, and realize Dave is standing beside you. It's fucking uncanny how he does that, moving so quickly and silently.

"What? Nothing. Nothing is the matter. Why do you ask?" You close your book and set it down on the table, although maybe that wasn't what you should have done, because Dave's eyebrows shift upwards slightly.

Well, too late to take it back now. You just look up at him (he's so tall but you love it) and cross your arms. "You sighed," he says.

"Oh," you say eloquently in return. Shit, did you? "Just tired, I suppose."

"Maybe you should go sleep then." He tucks his hands in his pockets and your ears burn.

"It's not your job to take care of me," you mutter and stand up, grabbing your book. If you stick around, you're just going to get flustered and run your mouth and if that happens you'll basically fuck yourself over, like a verbose steamroller of muttered debauchery.

Dave's lips twitch into what classifies as a smile on him, but on anyone else would just look like a slack face. You've gotten so good at reading his features, what with all the staring you do.

Aaaaand thoughts like that are just making you more red in the face. You really need to abscond before your embarrassment skyrockets any higher. You try to go around him, but he catches your elbow.

"Hey, Karkat. Talk to me dude, you've been acting really weird the past couple weeks." If you pretend really hard, he almost sounds concerned. No, but, in reality, he almost sounds kind of bored. You know that's just how he talks, but sometimes some fucking emotion from him would be nice, you think.

"Um, fuck you? I have not been acting in any way abnormal, so you can let go of me and go back to your stupid hipster music, or whatever." You actually don't want him to let go of you at all. You stay exactly where you are, chin tilted up a tiny bit so you can gaze deep into his sunglasses - you wish he'd take them off. He did for you exactly once, and you choked so hard you think he thought you were laughing at him, and he refuses to talk to you about it.

Stupid, stubborn, insufferable prick.

"Look man, I'm just wondering why you've been so flighty. And also, the not-so-secret secret staring contests with various bits of my anatomy." Your face gets even hotter, if it were possible. His lips do the twitch-half-smile thing again and now you can't stop thinking about his lips. Pink and slightly chapped, they'd feel so nice pressed against your own.

"I-I just." you mentally smack yourself for stuttering. Then you mentally slam your head onto a desk for starting that sentence because he's looking at you like he expects you to finish it.

Your gut tells you to kiss him. Your brain tells you to stop being fucking stupid and just walk away already.

You do neither. Instead you reach up and slide Dave's shades up into his hair, your movements slow and your touch gentle. He tenses, and lowers his eyes once they're uncovered, but doesn't protest.

"I wanted to tell you," you say softly, tugging at a loose strand of white-blond hair. "That, I like your eyes."

He still won't look at you, which causes a lump to form in your throat, but he does seem to relax a tiny bit. "Thanks. Now, are you going to tell me what's really been bothering you?" Red eyes flick in your direction and make contact with your slate grey ones, and the lump in your throat gets bigger. Why does he have to be so fucking gorgeous.

"Just dumb emotions," you say, before you can think about it too much.

"How dumb are we talking here? Like on a scale from one to 'as dumb as it fucking gets''?"

"Probably somewhere near 'incredibly fucking dumb'." 

"Can I ask what the emotions are about?" he asks, his eyebrows arching slightly. From this distance, you can see every freckle on his stupid human face, little scattered flecks of brown across pale skin.

"You can, I guess. But that doesn't mean I'll tell you."

His eyes are searching, and it is overwhelming how open he is without his shades to hide behind. You are hit in the gut with a dizzying sensation of pure pity and affection, because here his is, holding you by your elbow, his barriers down and his vulnerabilities exposed. That he would trust you like this makes you swallow a noise whose intents were questionable.

"Okay, I'll risk it. Do these emotions have anything to do with lil' ol' me?" He moves his hand, slings his arm around your shoulder.

"I-It is a definite possibility," you stammer out, and the smug asshole just grins at you. Not a twitch-smile, an actual visible curve upward of his lips, showing a tiny peek of flat white teeth from behind them. "But not everything is about you, douchebag."

"But will you admit that this _is_ about me?"

You squirm, and cast his arm off of your shoulder. You don't say anything yet, and your eyes are searching, holding his, trying to find any malice in their glimmering ruby depths. He seems innocent, at least honestly curious. You swear your heart wants to leap right out your goddamn ribcage, and the fact that he is steadily gazing right back at you doesn't help. Every single one of your nerves is taut, and you want so bad to kiss him.

So you do.

Or at least, you try. As soon as your arms go up to pull him close, he flashsteps backwards, away from you.

Your eyes widen, and your world crumbles. Did Dave actually just run away from you?

Suddenly, you want to cry.

Your eyes burn and your chest hurts, and you turn away to leave. Dave makes a noise that you didn't think he was capable of making. It sounds half upset, half exasperated. Now he's in front of you, but you don't want to see him right now, you don't want to hear him talk you just want to go deal with your broken heart _alone._

"Goddammit Karkat! Are you seriously crying?" Dave sounds angry. It makes you hurt even more.

"Fuck you. Leave me alone. I got it, you don't want me. I wouldn't want me either so it's not like I _fucking_ blame you." Your voice cracks and you turn around again.

"Oh my God. Oh my God! Stay right there and talk to me, for fuck's sake."

You don't want to do anything except leave. "There's nothing to talk about!" you say, and you rub your eyes furiously. Your throat stings, and you feel queasy. "I- you pulled away. You don't want me."

"I never said that, God, you're so paranoid." he sounds so annoyed and you want to die, but he folds you up in his arms and all you can do is lean into his warmth. You hate yourself a little more for each breath you take of his clean, alluring scent. "You just startled me, I guess. If I'm honest I thought you were going to hit me." He talks into your hair, his breath stirring your skin and making you shiver.

"Why would you think that?" your voice is so small, you feel like you could fold up into nothing. But first you'll hear what Dave has to say. At least he doesn't sound angry anymore.

"Well you were starin' at me all intense-like, and then you moved so suddenly. You looked kinda pissed, I thought you were going to like, punch me in the face or something. Why didn't you just _say_ something? Jesus."

Your heart starts to pick up pace again. "I wouldn't hit you," you mumble into his shoulder. "Not too hard, at least." Dave laughs, and you smile into his shirt. Maybe this won't end badly. Tears prickle your eyes regardless. "I was just so scared you wouldn't feel the same way. Why would you? I'm just a grumpy stunted asshole with a saviour complex. I'm a bully, Dave, and you're... you're you. You're attractive and cool and you didn't fail your friends. You're not a screw-up, so you don't deserve one like me."

Even after you stop talking, and bury your face in his shoulder (your tears staining his shirt he's going to hate you and you don't think you can handle that) Dave continues to hold you, but he doesn't laugh, and he doesn't speak. When he does, it feels like a punch to the gut.

"You're not a screw-up, Karkat."

Your stomach drops and your heart clenches. It's not even what he said, it's _how_ he said it, all soft and caring and unbelievably sympathetic. You can hear the pity in his voice and you want to cry, you want to laugh, you want to kiss his stupid face.

"You may have screwed up, but you're not a screw-up. Everybody makes mistakes. Even me, believe it or not. I... I don't _not_ want you."

"What does that mean?" your chest rumbles, an involuntary noise that rolls up from a rumble to a chirp, a high, happy noise. You know what he means, you think. He chuckles and pulls your head out of his shoulder.

"You know I pretty much check out when quadrants are mentioned, but if I said I wanted to hug you, and kiss you, and maybe even do the naughty; which of your weird alien math romances is that?" Your face turns red, and your ears wiggle. The asshole grins and waits for an answer.

"F-flush," you stutter. "Concupiscent redrom. Flush, you're flushed. I'm flushed! You're..?" you are breathless, and your teeth click together, eyes hopeful as you look up at him.

"I'm flushed," he finishes, and this time, you really do kiss him.

It's sweet, and heated, and so _Dave_ that you want to spend eternity just as you are, with your arms around his neck and his lips pressed firmly on yours. When he pulls away you are breathless and light headed, and for even just a couple seconds, you feel completely, utterly, blissfully happy.


End file.
